


Best Laid Plans

by benrumo



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Improvised Sex Toys, M/M, Sex Toys, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:51:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3352217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benrumo/pseuds/benrumo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cesare once tried to explain what being transgender is like to Dorian. "My body isn't a cage or a prison," he said. "It's a motel room. At first it doesn't seem so bad. You don't have to worry about fire insurance or fixing the ceiling when it leaks. But then time passes and you realize that you can't paint the walls of a motel room. You can't change the furniture. And all of the sudden it hits you all at once that nothing about you is actually yours. Once you see it, you have to find a way out, no matter what it takes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Body

**Author's Note:**

> I'M GOING TO BE ON TUMBLR ALL DAY DOING SNIPITS AND REQUESTS IN HONOR OF VALENTINE'S DAY! Come visit me at BenRumo.tumblr.com! 
> 
> Just a little modern day AU I thought up to punish myself for going the easy "magical transition!" route with my main fics about Cesare Lavellan. PS, you don't really need to know any of what I'm about to say to understand this fic, but I thought it would be fun to include anyway. PSS, things you maybe need to know: the first "chapter" of this is a lot of talking and emotional stuff. The second "chapter" (really the epilogue) is porn! I won't feel hurt if you skip to the porn. 
> 
> Dorian is a Brit of mixed Spanish/Indian heritage whose father runs a law firm (or possibly a mega corporation. I could never decide). He comes out his senior year in high school only to get disowned by his father. He jumps the pond on the promise of a scholarship from Florida State University, but a paperwork error leaves him without housing after his first semester. The friends he's made turn out not to be quite as friendly as he imagined, and he winds up begging for aid at FSU's Pride Alliance. There he meets sociology major Cesare Lavellan, president and housing manager (correct term? idk) for FSU's LGBT housing units. Turns out there's nothing they can do about the paperwork, but Cesare offers to let Dorian live with him until he can get everything sorted out. Cue every romcom you've ever seen. Fast forward maybe ten years later and Dorian's head of the new US branch of his father's company (or on his way to building his own law firm?) and Cesare's a professor and burgeoning LGBT activist. Yay happily ever after!

Dorian realizes vaguely that he should not be behaving in this manner, but for the life of him he cannot think of an alternate method of getting what he wants. What he wants is for his darling, delightful boyfriend to let him spend the night. He would even settle for not having sex, just so long as he was allowed to stay the night.

“I’m not dressed, Dorian.”

“A state I hope to find myself in very soon. You’re not going to turn me back out onto the streets, are you? I can’t imagine you’d be so heartless,” he wheedles through the gap in the door Cesare’s deigned to allow.

Cesare’s long hair is a mess, something Dorian’s never seen excluding the few times he’s had the opportunity to mess it up himself. He finds himself oddly jealous now, knowing its current disarray isn’t his work.

“I…” Cesare says, stubborn face finally losing its hard edges. “No, I wouldn’t want to get charged with reckless endangerment for letting a drunken foreigner wander the streets this time of night.”

Well, not all of its edges.

“Is that a real thing in this country? What a quaint concept.”

“Get in here before I change my mind.”

The door finally opens and Dorian achieves his well-deserved prize. The air conditioning sweeps over him, clearing his head. Damn this humid, miserable country, he thinks. No wonder so many of his forefathers died trying to adjust. If he had to soldier on without air conditioning in this swampy hell-pit, he rather thinks he’d drop dead as well.

“How much have you had to drink?” Cesare grouses as he slides the latch back into place. “You’re not going to throw up on my carpets, are you?”

Dorian takes note of what he’s wearing: A hooded sweater in this weather? It’s practically a dress on him. Dorian can just barely see the plaid of his boxers beneath the hem. Not dressed, indeed. The madness of these Americans will never cease to amaze him.

“I have enough self-control to avoid drinking to such excess. Do give me some credit,” Dorian rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re so angry with me. I did warn you I was coming.”

Dorian pulls his irritable little boyfriend close, aiming to steal a kiss that will hopefully put all this unpleasantness behind them. He’s barely begun to lean down when Cesare pushes him off. Dorian’s ego has always bruised easily, but this proves a particularly stinging blow.

“I imagined you’d be happy to see me, but clearly that’s not the case.”

Cesare at least has the courtesy to look guilty for the unexpected rejection. Dorian takes that as a good sign. Even if he has overstepped a boundary or two, at least he hasn’t caused so much damage that his darling diminutive dearest wants to punish him.

“I’d be more happy to see you if it wasn’t three in the morning,” Cesare tells him. “And a text is hardly fair warning. I was sleeping. All deductions you could have made for yourself if you weren’t drunk.”

“I’m not drunk, I’m happily inebriated,” Dorian sniffs. He could pass any coordination test with flying colors. “Besides, I planned on doing this hours ago, back when I was still on my first drink. It may have been a bad plan, but it was a sober one at least.”

“Pardon me if I don’t exactly find that reassuring. Why did you plan on coming to my door at three in the morning while sober?”

He shouldn’t have said that. The whole point of drinking and waiting until three in the bloody morning was to make it look as if he _hadn’t_ planned something this stupid while sober. Oh hell, he needs to find a way to recover this fast, before Cesare gets even more suspicious.

“I admit the timing does leave something to be desired. Just tell me you aren’t too angry with me. I couldn’t bare it,” he says, throwing his arms around Cesare’s neck dramatically, the earlier rejection already forgotten.

The mock melodrama seems to win Cesare over, at least somewhat. It always does. Cesare smiles at Dorian’s antics and thankfully doesn’t push him away again. Dorian can’t help but to smile in return. Always nice when a plan finally comes together.

“You know what they say. Why bother getting angry when you could get even?”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“Smart man, even when drunk,” he says, and Dorian graciously ignores the third patently false accusation. “Now, I’m going back to bed. You can sleep on the couch.”

Dorian finds himself gaping like a fish in the very next instant, arms emptied of his beloved boyfriend. This is definitely not how the plan was supposed to go.

“You’re going to make me sleep on the couch?” he sputters, following after Cesare.

“Yes. It’s where I usually let uninvited guests sleep.”

“Don’t you think you’ve been cruel enough for one evening? Punish me when I’m hung over. My misery will be so much more palpable then, I promise you,” he begs, catching Cesare around the waist before he can get too far away. “I’ll do anything you want, just don’t make me sleep on your filthy, dime store couch.”

“Like you’re getting off that easy. You’re sleeping on my filthy, dime store couch whether you like it or not,” he says before leaving Dorian with empty arms for a second time.

“You’re so mean to me. I don’t know why I put up with it,” Dorian complains loudly, but obediently throws himself down on the horrible yellow monstrosity in the middle of the living area. “Do I at least get a blanket?”

“I’m getting you a blanket. Hold your horses,” Cesare calls back.

Well, it’s not half bad for a night’s work, Dorian thinks as he wriggles out of his jeans. Certainly the bedroom would have been the greater prize, but he’s more than satisfied with this despite his complaining. Perhaps he had been overly ambitious in hoping for more.

He strips down to his underclothes and starts fiddling with his phone, trying to decide what time he should set his alarm. Will Cesare let him sleep in, he wonders? Doubtful. Better to wake before he does, just in case. He darts his eyes up from the screen to see what the hell’s taking Cesare so long with that blanket only to find that Cesare’s gotten just the slightest bit distracted. Oh, would you look at that? It seems his undershirt has ridden a ways up, leaving a nice strip of his abdomen exposed for Cesare to see. Dorian hadn’t even noticed.

“Oh, so now you want me?” he says, feigning exasperation. Maybe he will get that bed after all.

Cesare immediately averts his eyes and tosses the pillow and blanket in his arms at Dorian’s head. How charmingly puritanical of him. Cesare’s near enough to kiss by the time he’s pulled the blanket away from his eyes.

“I always want you. Especially when you call first.”

Dorian pulls him down the rest of the way. If that wasn’t an invitation, he doesn’t know what is. He threads his fingers through Cesare’s hair, eager to banish his earlier irrational jealousy. Cesare shifts some of his weight onto the couch to give himself a better angle, but he’s still too damn far away for Dorian’s taste. Dorian just doesn’t have it in him to sit idle, not when there’s a beautiful man so temptingly close. True to form, he grabs Cesare’s ass, giving himself that full-body contact he’s so craving.

Dorian did not perhaps think that action through.

“Oh,” he says before he can think to hold it back.

The feel of the body against him comes as too much of a shock. It shouldn’t, he knows, but it does. Dorian thinks he finally understands why Cesare claimed to be undressed. He now sees the utility of the grossly oversized sweater and the numerous if mild rejections that he probably should have paid more attention to.

Cesare jerks away just as quickly as he did before. Dorian’s too stunned and yes, perhaps drunk, to react before he’s gone.

“Now do you understand?” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dorian thinks that perhaps this may have all been a very bad idea, even if it was one with the best of intentions. The whiskey, though it had seemed such a good idea at the time, is holding him back now. He needs to think, to figure out how to salvage this, but his thoughts just won’t come the way they should.

“I’m going to bed. We can pick that back up in the morning.”

He falters just enough on the promise of tomorrow that Dorian can see his doubts, even inebriated.

“No.”

“Dorian,” he starts, but Dorian refuses to let him finish.

“No. I knew what I was getting myself into with you.”

Dorian supposes that was hardly the right thing to say given Cesare’s immediate reaction. Damn the whiskey! He needs to find the right words.

“I’m dating you,” he tries again. “Not some idea of you. Not the person you will be one day. I’m dating you, here and now. This needed to happen sooner or later, so we may as well get it out of the way now that the subject has been breached.”

“Get what out of the way? This isn’t a discussion, Dorian. It just is. If you want to date me, this is what it means. It means not showing up at three in the morning unannounced. It means not—”

“Not getting too close,” Dorian finishes angrily.

“That’s not fair. You knew before this started. I can’t give you any more than what I have. I can’t… I _can’t_ do it. You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t understand. I don’t understand why I can’t sleep in the same bed as you. I don’t understand why you won’t let me touch you. You don’t come when we’re together. What am I supposed to think about that?”

“You know that’s not true! I love being with you, I just…”

“Fine. It’s not true. You do sometimes. But not every time.”

“Will you shut the fuck up and let me talk?”

Dorian slouches back against the down on the couch, petulant. Cesare accepts both his resignation and his childishness. Dorian hadn’t meant to go that far. He shouldn’t have made it sound like he was angry. He wasn’t angry. But damn it, the only thing worse than not knowing if he’s really the kind of man Cesare needs is not being allowed to even _try_.

“This only ends one of two ways for me. Either my body disgusts you and you end this, or it doesn’t and I have to. Those are my only options. Can you understand that? What kind of position I’m in here?”

“I want to try and make things work,” Dorian tries to reassure him, but it sounds optimistically shallow even to his ears. He doesn’t know how else to say it. He does want to try. They can’t go on like they have been, stuck in this in between place with not just Cesare’s one but several massive elephants lurking between the both of them.

“Then this is how you do it. You play pretend with me and my fucking silicone and nylon. You don’t think about it, I don’t think about it, and if we’re damn lucky maybe one of us forgets about it for a few minutes. That is all I have to offer you. I know this isn’t what you—”

Dorian flicks him right in the middle of his stupid little forehead before he can say another word.

“Ow! Christ, what the hell was that for?”

“Ignorance deserves punishment,” Dorian says derisively. “I can’t believe we’ve been dating for this long and I’m only now getting a glimpse at how spectacularly terrified you are of all this.”

“I’m not terrified. These are the facts. This is what being trans means,” he argues, rubbing his head and eyeing Dorian for any sign that he might be readying for a second assault.

“That you can’t share a bed with me?” Dorian challenges.

“I can’t wear my binder to bed. It will literally make it hard to breathe. And I’m supposed to give my skin a break at night, so I don’t pack either.”

“I fail to see how any of this is relevant unless your unbound chest manages to take up an entire side of the bed on its own.”

“Very funny. I’m laughing.”

“Come on,” Dorian demands, dragging him into the bedroom by his wrist.

“Dorian!”

Dorian ignores Cesare and throws himself down on the bed. He continues to pointedly ignore Cesare for the whole of one incredibly tense minute, hoping that this demonstration in stubbornness alone will be enough to sway him.

It isn’t.

“Just try,” he says, once again reduced to begging.

Cesare looks as if Dorian’s asked him to drive a rusty nail through his eye. Dorian sighs, knowing he has no right to push any harder than he already is. But he can’t bring himself to stop now and risk letting a night’s rest push it all back under the rug.

He sits back up and tries again.

“I like you. Far more than I reasonably should, if we’re being honest.”

Dorian hears how that sounds even as he says it. Cesare must too, but his face remains still as stone. Too much practice, Dorian thinks. Far too much practice. Curse the devils that fostered that talent in him.

“I keep telling myself not to overstep. It’s been what, barely a month? A very good month, mind you, but hardly the appropriate amount of time one should allow before thinking about you the way I do. I want _more_ from you,” Dorian forces himself to admit. “And especially after tonight I can see why that might make you uncomfortable. It would probably make you uncomfortable even if you weren’t bringing your own problems to the table. You’d hardly be the first to tell me I’m terrible at this. By all accounts, I’m pushy, demanding, jealous, clingy... Bit like a bloody limpet when you get right down to it. Also, I have a tendency to talk in my sleep. Not one of my more attractive qualities, but if you needed proof that you’re not the only one who is insecure, there you have it.”

He gives Cesare a crooked, self-depreciating smile. Dorian’s not sure what he’s going to do if this gamble doesn’t pay off. It’s a touch manipulative perhaps, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to sit there letting Cesare think he’s the only one who’s hiding abject terror under a thin veneer of carefully-laid plans.

“I’ve spend the past week trying to figure out how I could ask you to let me stay the night without actually having to ask. I didn’t want to come on too strong, so instead I got drunk and came to your door at three in the morning in hopes that it would all magically work out. Let him think I’m a thoughtless cad, I thought. It’s what most people think when they look at me anyway. Better than letting him know I’d go picking out curtains tomorrow if only he’d ask.”

“Dorian,” he says uneasily, but nothing follows.

“If you want me to promise that it doesn’t bother me, I can’t. I can’t make you that promise because I don’t know, and at the rate we’re going I’ll never know. Do you not see the irony in that?”

“I…” he starts to protest, but then gives in. “You actually forgot, didn’t you? That’s what I wanted. I want you to see me like that. It’s how I try to see myself. It’s the only thing that helps sometimes. And I figured… You shouldn’t have to deal with it. It’s not fair to put this all on you right out of the gate. I’ve been trying to keep it from being a problem, but trying just isn’t enough sometimes.”

Dorian understands too well. Has he not spent these last weeks fearing much the same, pretending everything’s fine because he knows he has no right to expect anything more?

“Please come here,” he asks again, and he makes himself promise that this is the last time he’ll ask.

Cesare finally sits down beside him.

“It favors neither of us in the long run to try and live with this uncertainty,” Dorian says, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “But in the short term… We shouldn’t try to solve this all tonight. In fact, I think we’ve made brilliant progress getting this far.”

“How are you managing to be this sensible while drunk?” Cesare smiles, leaning into Dorian’s touch so that it almost becomes an embrace.

“I told you I wasn’t drunk. It’s your fault for not believing me.”

“What is it you fancy Europeans say about wine and truth? Do you think it holds true for whiskey?” he teases, wrapping an arm around Dorian. “You’re right, though. I’ve been an idiot. I’m sorry, I just find it hard to believe that…”

“That this could ever actually work?”

“I can’t explain to you what it’s like. No matter how hard I try, no matter how far I come, I still find it hard to live with my own body. It’s not even that I doubt that there are people in the world who would find me attractive, but the idea of someone _wanting_ me for that… I’d honestly rather be alone. Even if it was you. I can’t, Dorian. I really can’t.”

He tries to pull back, but Dorian refuses to let him.

“Please don’t go,” he begs, careful not to touch Cesare’s chest again as he pulls him into a hug. It’s not much in the way of comfort, he knows, but he hopes it won’t be refused.

“I’m sorry. I wish things were different.”Top of Form

Bottom of Form

 

“Forgive me if I’m being dense, but I had assumed that sex would have been the greater hurtle than merely sleeping in the same bed. I know there are things you’re not comfortable with, but we’ve found ways to work around that, haven’t we? Why is this so different?”

“Why were you shocked when you felt my chest against yours tonight if it isn’t different?” he counters wirily.

“Would it be any kind of reassurance if I told you that being reminded doesn’t change anything for me?” Dorian finally settles on what he hopes this time is the right choice of words. “Really, if we’re going to talk about _in vino veritas_ , I can promise you that I don’t find it attractive. But there are a great many parts of your body that I don’t find attractive.”

“That one I’m going to blame on the whiskey, because surely you didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he says, sounding thankfully more amused than upset. “Or are you saying that the few parts of me that are attractive are so attractive they make up for my apparently numerous shortcomings?”

“I don’t mind telling you that I’m not the least bit attracted to your feet. You have _hair_ on your feet. Not the odd strand, genuine growth. There’s nothing attractive about that in the least. Not to mention how disturbingly long your toes are.”

Cesare sticks his legs out and wiggles his toes as if admiring them.

“And here I always thought I had dainty little princess feet,” he says, smirking.

Dorian moves closer, hooking one leg around Cesare and slipping the other forward to tangle their feet together.

“Even if we can say that my feet are objectively speaking better formed, can you honestly say that my feet are any more _attractive_? In the sexual sense, I mean,” he says, resting his chin on Cesare’s shoulder. He can’t see Cesare’s face from this position, but he hopes they’re past the point in this conversation where that is going to be a problem. “If you do, perhaps there’s another discussion we should be having right now.”

“Well, they certainly seem attractive when you’re doing that,” he says, his fingers lacing between the ones Dorian has around his waist.

“Mm, I see your point,” he smiles at their interlaced legs. “But do you see mine?”

“When it comes to attractiveness, most people would consider feet extraneous.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m missing some very basic qualities that more or less top the list on what conventionally defines attractiveness.”

“Which would be a problem if we were in a conventional relationship, but I think we rather left conventional at the door. If I wanted…” Dorian starts, but then realizes how that might sound and tries again. “Conventionally, yes, having certain traits of sexual dimorphism is considered to be the basis of what makes a person sexually attractive. Yet it seems to have escaped your notice that I have expressed what I would consider to be an extreme level of attraction to you while remaining largely ignorant of those parts of your body.”

“That is my entire point,” he groans, getting frustrated again. “That’s why I’ve worked so hard to keep you from seeing me like that.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Dorian says, getting frustrated in response. “I’m drunk, remember? Give me a bloody chance to get the words out before you go jumping to conclusions.”

Cesare forces himself to be quiet, but it doesn’t relieve any of his tension.

“When we’re together, I don’t think of you as anything more or less that what you are. I don’t pretend that you have a, a _cisgender_ penis,” he says, tripping over the terminology. Dorian had done a lot of reading on this subject since he’d first met Cesare, but ironically that hadn’t translated into a lot of _talking_. Not hard to see why now. “But that’s mostly because that would involve actually thinking about something other than how damn good you make me feel. And while we’re on the subject of things I don’t think about while we’re having sex, I certainly don’t spend a lot of time thinking about your feet. Sometimes they brush up against my legs. Sometimes I catch sight of your hairy little toes. Just because I don’t find the sight of them attractive doesn’t mean they’re a turn off. Why can’t it be that easy? Why can’t they just be other parts of you I have no particular sexual investment in?”

“Because I can’t come without the parts of my body you don’t want. And apparently you can tell when I’m faking. It’s not exactly a perfect compromise for either of us.”

“And your fear finally takes tangible form. Well…” he muses. “ _Don’t want_ might be putting it strongly. Or at least ambiguously.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m not sure yet. Just following a line of thought. Tell me, how do you feel about that part of your body? That one particular part. Can we refer to it in the masculine? I think this might get confusing otherwise.”

“You mean my…”

“I want to talk about your cock, yes.”

“That’s not a phrase I ever expected anyone to say to me,” Cesare says, going more than a bit red in the face.

“Have I ever told you how much I love it when you get bashful?” Dorian teases, kissing the side of his neck. “It’s like you’re begging me to say something absolutely filthy just to rile you further.”

Cesare cranes his neck to give Dorian better access. It’s a surprising response, but one Dorian is more than eager to encourage.

“Yes,” Dorian says, switching gears from playful to sexual. He can think of no better approach than this one he’s accidentally stumbled upon. Dorian doesn’t want or need to imagine, but he doesn’t object in the least to Cesare putting his own imagination to work, especially if this is the result. “I want to talk about your cock.” Another kiss, this one higher. “And how you want me to touch it.”

“You’re a demon, you know that?” Cesare says, threading his fingers through Dorian’s hair in encouragement.

“You do want me to touch you, don’t you? With my hands? Would that help you? Tell me.”

“I…” he manages, but nothing more.

“Thinking about it is making you hard, isn’t it? And don’t think this is the first time I’ve noticed how much you enjoy the sound of my voice,” Dorian growls in his ear. “I can keep this up all day, you know. I could go on about your cock for much, much longer than you could hold out.”

“Oh, _fuck_. Enough,” he gasps, putting some distance between the two of them. Dorian happily notes he doesn’t move too far away. Oh yes, this is delightful progress. “You’ve made your point.”

“Have I? And what point was that, exactly?”

Dorian’s honestly not sure himself anymore. He supposes he did get a bit carried away there, but can Cesare really blame him? He is damnably attractive, whether he realizes it or not.

“We could try… Doing that,” he says awkwardly. “But, Dorian, if you don’t—”

Dorian stops him before he can tie himself in knots again.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he says firmly. “Luckily, here’s the point where I can remind you that I’m hardly the self-sacrificing type. Worst comes to worst and we break up like any other couple with an unsatisfactory sex life. So once again, sex proves to be the least of our problems. Or rather, it proves to be a very mundane problem with extraordinary trappings.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It can be,” he says, then amends: “I hope it is.”

Cesare makes a noise that isn’t exactly an agreement, but Dorian supposes it will do for now. This is a rather easy problem to solve, as far as he’s concerned. He meant it when he said he was willing to try. If it doesn’t work out, he won’t stay. The sooner the better, if it’s going to come to that. A clean cut will heal better for them both.

“You may not have asked for this, but I did,” he reminds Cesare. “I recall correctly, it was on August the nineteenth. You showed up to help me move in and I spent the entire day watching your arse as you ran up the stairs and you know what I thought to myself?”

“There’s no telling.”

“How could I best phrase it in American? I know. I thought to myself, _dayum, I need ta tap dat ass_ ,” Dorian says in his worst mimicry of an American accent.

“Oh, Christ, you did not,” Cesare says, laughing so hard he’s shaking the both of them.

“I did too. Precisely like that.”

“You are a shameless flirt.”

“A shameless flirt who is approaching a point.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

“Immediately after all that, I thought about what an absolutely terrible idea flirting with you would be, and I had three very good reasons. First, I was fairly certain you weren’t even attracted to me, thanks to that damn impenetrable stone wall you have for a face.”

“Seriously? I’m not that hard to read, am I? I thought you knew. Especially after that time I caught you sunbathing naked on the fire escape.”

“Everyone looks at me like that. Hardly proof of anything more than your attraction to men, which I was already well aware of,” Dorian says dismissively before continuing. “Second, you were my only real friend and I genuinely couldn’t afford to lose you.”

“I couldn’t look at you without blushing for a solid week after and you still questioned whether or not I was attracted to you?”

“Will you stop interrupting me? I’m trying very hard to be sentimental and revelatory here,” he says, swatting Cesare across the thigh. “And the third… being as incredibly gay as I am, could it even work between us? I found an answer to all of those problems before I asked you to stay for dinner that night.”

“And that answer was?”

“I didn’t cross an ocean just to live the same safe life of self-denial my father always wanted for me. I don’t want convenient. I want what’s _right_. Once I started looking at it in terms of how much I had to gain, it was hardly a choice. I had to try,” Dorian says firmly. “So, if you’re still concerned about what I’m getting out of this, there you have it. I am damn well committed. I know what I want, and it comes in the form of an infuriating, dazzling, fake-ginger demon who has an insufferable habit of making me say sappy things. Please tell me I’ve convinced you. I’m not sure I can go on being this direct for much longer. It’s not the British way, you know. We’re biologically driven to be proper and reserved.”

“Has proper and reserved ever described you? Besides, I like it when you get sappy, probably about as much as you do,” he says, tugging Dorian’s arms so they’re tighter around him. “But you can’t call me a fake ginger if my hair is actually red. The dye just makes it more red.”

Dorian makes a noise that he hopes gets across how hard he is rolling his eyes right now since Cesare can’t see them for himself.

“Oh, is that how you feel about it? Then maybe I should shave it all off and let my natural color come back through. I’ve been thinking about doing it for a while, actually. Long hair gets so hot in the summer.”

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

Cesare laughs even as Dorian punishingly nips at his ear.

“Thank you,” Cesare says, sobering. “For being so understanding.”

“I hardly think I deserve to be thanked for what has been in essence a string of entirely selfish acts. Or have you already forgotten the part where I showed up on your doorstep at three in the morning as a means of intentionally manipulating you into letting me spend the night?”

“For comforting me, then. You were right earlier. I am scared. I don’t know how to do this, but… I’m glad you won’t let me do it alone. Even if it takes showing up drunk on my doorstep at three in the morning.”

“Convincingly inebriated,” Dorian corrects him reflexively. “Well, that’s the beauty of finding someone to share your life with. Not having to go it all alone.”

Cesare makes a quiet noise Dorian’s not quite sure how to interpret. Was that too much? He hopes not. Cesare has reason enough to run without him foolishly adding to the mix. Restraint doesn’t come naturally, but he’ll find it if that’s what it takes to keep Cesare in his life. He will. He has to.

“Shall we call this discussion concluded, then?” he says, steering the conversation away from that potential blunder. “I think the hour is finally catching up to me.”

“You and me both,” Cesare agrees, standing up and stretching.

“I’ll sleep on the couch if you want,” he offers, hoping even as he does that they’re past that necessity.

“No use playing coy now, is there? Not when you’ve spend the last hour glued to my back.”

“I don’t want to do something that makes you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not,” Cesare says, leaning down to kiss him. “But…”

“What?”

“I can’t sleep in this hoodie. I’ll roast.”

“I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

“I’m more worried about tomorrow morning. Just don’t… look at me too closely, OK?”

The request sits uncomfortably with Dorian. His first instinct is to reassure Cesare again that it doesn’t change anything for him. But then, he supposes that maybe this isn’t about him. He does his best to recall his own advice. He really shouldn’t try to solve everything tonight, regardless of how badly he wants to.

“You have my word.”

Dorian gets under the sheets while Cesare goes to turn off all the lights. He can barely see Cesare reenter the room, but he closes his eyes anyway. He hears the cloth thud as Cesare’s sweater falls to the ground and soon the bed dips as Cesare slips under the sheets.

“Dorian?”

“Hm?”

“If we lay together like this, with you against my back, it wouldn’t… Do you want to try?”

Dorian hasn’t moved so fast in all of his life. God, but he is careful, so careful, as he moves his arm to rest in the dip at Cesare’s waist. He wants this too much.

“Do you think you could fall asleep like this?” Dorian asks because it’s easier than asking if he wants to.

“I don’t know. I’ve never had the opportunity to find out,” he says honestly, shifting his legs to rest more comfortably against Dorian. “The last time I slept in the same bed with someone I was… It was different.”

“Just to warn you, I will. I’m a fairly heavy sleeper, so if you need to move you don’t have to worry about waking me.”

“You know, I never would have taken you for a cuddler,” Cesare says, stroking his fingers along the bare arm around his waist.

“It surprises most people, though I can’t imagine why,” Dorian says drily. “I suppose it’s because beautiful people are supposed to be aloof and unobtainable, lest ye lesser mortals mar us with your touch.”

Cesare doesn’t reply. Dorian wonders if he should move, though every fiber of his being resists the thought. Damn it all, if he can’t indulge himself after a night like this, when is he supposed to find the opportunity?

“Most people are idiots,” Cesare finally says, fingers interlocking with Dorian’s. “I’m an idiot.”

He doesn’t want to talk about this. It’s much more enjoyable playing the noble knight than it is being the troubled damsel.

“Did you mean it? What you said earlier,” Cesare asks.

“I’m not good at moving slow.”

“Now that I did find predictable.”

Dorian snorts, “Beauty isn’t enough to mask all of my bad habits.”

Nothing is, apparently. Dorian wonders if Cesare can feel how fast his heart is beating against his back.

“I think I like this,” Cesare says after a quiet moment, thumb stroking Dorian’s forefinger. “I think I like this a lot.”

“You might not for too long. It gets terribly hot. Even more so, I imagine, in this miserable, sunny phallus of the nation.”

“Then we’ll turn up the air conditioning. I think it’s worth the few extra bucks a month, don’t you?”

“It’s not that easy,” Dorian says, his fear finally betraying him. Words are nice, but that’s all they are.

“Why can’t it be? It’s that easy for you. Isn’t that what you said to me?” Cesare demands. “Look, I know I’m not good at finding the words like you are, but do you honestly think I’d be this goddamned scared if I didn’t want to be here so bad? Christ, I can’t even count how many relationships I’ve run from because it was easier than staying and trying to deal with the real problem. But with you… Running isn’t the easier option anymore, alright?”

Dorian holds Cesare tighter because he has no idea how else to respond. It can’t really be this easy, can it? They are just words.

But then, haven’t they come farther than just the words tonight?

“This is where I want to be, Dorian. If it’s where you want to be too then why the hell are we both so scared?”

Maybe it’s enough, Dorian thinks, just being certain of that. Tomorrow will come, and in the light of day perhaps things will be easier or perhaps they won’t. But for tonight at least they’re both where they want to be.


	2. The Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FORGOT THE ENDING THE FIRST TIME I POSTED IT SO IT'S BACK I'M SORRY

“You know, I think you’ve rather ruined me for other men. You’re just so very versatile. Size. Shape. Color, even. I can coordinate your cock with all of my outfits.”

“Yes, and meanwhile my pockets run empty trying to keep up with your fashion sense.”

“I never claimed to be a cheap date. But you know what they say: you get what you pay for.”

“Never have those words found a more accurate target.”

Dorian lifts Cesare’s head away from the paper he’s grading to kiss him. He intends for it just to be a chaste kiss, just to test the waters. He hadn’t expected to have this much time to waste. If Cesare is as engrossed in his TA work as he seems, he supposes he’ll while away the next hour fiddling around on Facebook or flicking some Angry Birds across his iPad’s screen. But if not…

Cesare practically jumps out of his chair to drag Dorian into another kiss. Must be a particularly dull paper, Dorian thinks, to have him so eager for distraction. Not that Dorian minds. There are much more enjoyable ways to waste time than updating your Twitter.

“How long until you have to leave?” Cesare pulls back to ask, his hands already picking at Dorian’s belt.

“Oh, a good hour, at least.”

“Long enough?”

“Depends on what you had in mind,” he says with a wicked smile, “and whether or not I have to fix my hair again afterward.”

Cesare laughs and drags him back to the bedroom.

“I’m thinking…” He pauses to pull his shirt carefully over his head. The scars underneath are ugly but healing well, if Dorian is any judge. Dorian’s still not allowed to touch, but another two, three weeks tops, and Dorian will have the pleasure of being the first to teach his boyfriend just how damn good it can feel to have your nipples thoroughly sucked. He has plans for that newly minted chest. Very detailed plans. “Your favorite? On your hands and knees to save your precious hair.”

“Mm, how could I ever say no to an offer like that?”

Dorian carefully hangs his clothes back up while Cesare’s busy strapping himself in, thinking about what’s to come. His hand wanders down to stroke himself idly, remembering the last time they used this one. Just a little anticipation to help things along. Not that he’s likely to need the help. “Your favorite,” Cesare always calls it, and for good reason too.

Arms wrap around him from behind, stroking along his chest. The tip of his favorite pokes gently between his legs.

“Trying to start without me? Are we that pressed for time or are you just that eager?”

“Six of one,” Dorian groans, pressing one of Cesare’s hands downward. Cesare obediently grabs hold of his cock, stroking it gently. Dorian’s hips jerk when his thumb circles the head.

“You have to leave by two thirty, right? I set an alarm for fifteen after. Will that be enough time?”

“Perfect.”

“Then get on the bed,” Cesare orders.

Dorian complies as quickly as his legs allow. He spreads his knees apart and waits, knowing it won’t be long. He hears the pop of lube’s cap. His cock twitches in anticipation and he fights the urge to tell Cesare to hurry up already.

Hands fall on his hips, still slightly oily, and the bed dips down behind him.

“Do you need—”

But Dorian doesn’t let him finish.

“Do it. Just fucking do it,” he demands, rocking his hips back.

Dorian takes it eagerly. The head pops inside with just the tiniest bit of effort, and after that comes the best part, the roughly rippled shaft. Cesare drives in slow, letting him enjoy each crest as it enters him. He shuts his eyes and focuses on the sensation of it. Cesare knows him well, knows how he likes it. The initial penetration has always been one of his favorite parts, and Cesare makes sure he’s able to appreciate it.

Dorian moans through the final inches, relishing the stretch. One of the many appeals of his favorite is that it fits in him so well. It’s just shy of too much when it’s pressed in him as far as it will go. It’s a far cry from the largest in their collection, both in terms of width and length. It’s also unremarkable in terms of texture, its raised waves being among the more subtle of decorations he’s had the joy of experiencing. _Like the glass slipper of silicone cocks,_ he thinks. The one in all the world that fits him best.

Dorian would never have predicted that out of all the dildos they’d bought over the years that this would be the one he’d grow to love the most. It was just something cheap they’d picked up on sale. Dorian likes to think of it now as if fate brought the three of them together. It is so unremarkable to look at (ignoring the fact that it is a garish hot pink), but over the years it has proved itself the most reliable and deeply satisfactory toy they’ve ever bought. Its subtle construction makes it perfect for quick, hard fucking. Yet it’s not to be underestimated in the category of slow and sensuous either. The ridges are almost too much when it’s fast and just enough when they go slower. Nothing has ever even come close in Dorian’s book, no toy or no man.

“How do you want it?” Cesare asks, hands reaching around to play with Dorian’s nipples. Dorian rocks shallowly, adjusting to the feel of it inside him.

“Hard,” he shudders out as Cesare starts slowly driving in and out of him. “But build up to it. Don’t make it end too quickly. We’ve got the time.”

“Why do I even bother asking?” he laughs, rolling one nipple between his fingers.

“Because I’m not always impatient and greedy.”

“Just most of the time,” he teases.

Dorian thrusts his hips back, hoping to give Cesare some pleasure and in the process and urge him on. The grunt he gets in response tells him that Cesare is wearing a harness with some kind of modification to it, though whether one of their DYI experiments or one of the store bought ones he can’t tell. Likely the former though, he thinks. They tend to work better with his favorite. His favorite is the reason they started making their little homemade modifications in the first place. It wasn’t made for giving men like Cesare pleasure, but Dorian wasn’t about to let that stop them.

Cesare finally gives Dorian what he wants. He pulls out until the head tugs at his entrance before sliding back in. The ripples force him to relax and take it, not that he needs much help. He tries to move in counterpoint to Cesare’s thrusts, but Cesare is moving too damn slow for him.

“I thought you wanted me to set the pace,” Cesare growls, grabbing back onto Dorian’s hips to slow him down. “But if you want me to really fuck you, I’ll fuck you.”

“God, yes,” he begs. “You know what I want. Do it.”

Dorian throws his head back and gasps at the first hard thrust. The breath has barely left his mouth before Cesare drives in with a second. The pace is brutal, demanding of his every ounce of attention. One hand strokes up his thigh, palming his balls while a thin finger strokes at the skin just behind. Cesare’s other hand may well be leaving bruises on his hip for how hard it’s gripping him. Dorian still wants more.

“Harder,” he demands the moment he finds the breath. “I need more. Please, I… Yes! Like that. Just like that.

Dorian finds the right pace to thrust back into each stroke. It’s perfect, so perfect. This one was made for him. He closes his eyes and absolutely loses himself to the pleasure of it, to the feel of Cesare’s hands on him and the narrow hips he drives back onto with every thrust.

Soon he can hear Cesare panting. It’s too easy to imagine his face right now, the quiet grunt he makes as he bites down on his lower lips, trying to hold back. Dorian can feel his pace falter. A hand wraps around his cock, but it’s too late.

“Oh, _fuck_!” is all the warning Cesare manages to get out before he comes. He thrusts in hard and fast, riding the high of his orgasm. It leaves Dorian keening, but it’s not enough to push him over the edge.

“Fuck,” he wheezes when he can finally manage. “Sorry.”

“No apology necessary,” Dorian says graciously as he tries very hard to restrain himself.

“Beauty of dating a guy with a rubber cock, right? Sorry, just give me a second to get this thing out,” Cesare says breathlessly before he pulls out only half way and starts to fiddle with the harness. “If I would have known you were going to make such a damn good show of it today I would have gone in without it and just had you suck me off after.”

“Oh, so this is my fault, is it?” Dorian huffs. Here he is being incredibly patient and this is the thanks he gets in return.

“Well, you are the only thing in this world capable of making me come that fast.”

“Flatterer.”

“Is it flattery if it’s truth?”

“If you’ve got the time to engage in this debate, you’ve got the time to—”

But Dorian can’t get the complaint out before Cesare is back to fucking him again. He’s caught off guard. The stroke hits him just right, makes him scream.

“I wish we had more time,” Cesare says. “If I could, I’d tie you to the bed right now, get your hands out of the way so that I could fuck you properly without worrying about you touching yourself. Start with this one, work you open until you’re nice and comfortable, then move up to that really fucking big, expensive one we bought online. It came in today, by the way. Did I forget to tell you? Look under your pillow.”

Dorian spares a few brain cells to wonder just how much of this he had planned out. Cesare is so damnably good at adapting at the last second that it’s impossibly hard to tell his improvisations from his scheming. Dorian can barely manage to lift his arm up with the way Cesare’s fucking him now. It takes him three separate tries and even then his hand is shaking as he throws the pillow aside.

Oh, but it is beautiful. The custom color turned out well, he’s pleased to note. But that manages to keep his attention only for a moment.

It’s so much bigger than it looked in the website’s picture. Dorian takes it in his hand, feeling the weight of it, how little give there is to the silicone. His fingers run down the shaft and imagine how each bump and ridge will feel as it goes inside him.

“I think it turned out rather well, don’t you? I’m glad we went with the highest level of firmness. I think it will really put that detail to good use,” he says, pulling Dorian’s attention back to the toy already in his ass with a particularly well-aimed stroke.

“Right there,” Dorian groans.

Cesare adjusts his position and thrusts in deep. Dorian’s rather glad for the new toy’s firmness himself in that moment. Had it been any softer he might have just squeezed it into jelly between his fingers.

“I’m going to make you wait for it,” Cesare tells him. “It’s just a bit bigger than anything you’ve ever taken before. I checked earlier. Not by much, but I think you’ll be able to feel it. I’m going to tie you up and then work it in nice and slow. I was thinking I’d leave you like that once I got it all the way in, so you could really get acquainted. How long do you think it will take before you start begging me to fuck you?”

He wouldn’t, Dorian knows. Neither one of them have the patience to keep their hands off one another for very long. But Dorian can’t pretend the thought doesn’t hit him hard. Nothing wrong with a healthy imagination, not for either of them.

Dorian reaches a hand towards his cock, only to have it batted away at the last second.

“Put it in your mouth,” Cesare orders.

“What?” Dorian responds dumbly, so close and so desperate he honestly isn’t sure his brain has processed the words correctly.

“Don’t worry, I cleaned it off earlier,” Cesare assures him. “Now put it in your mouth. I want you to feel it and think about how it’s going to feel later when we really get to use it.”

There was a time when Cesare wasn’t quite this confident in bed, Dorian thinks. Oh, but he has created a monster, hasn’t he? He encouraged all that filthy daydreaming of his and this is the result.

Dorian obediently places what little of the toy he can in his mouth. He’s no stranger to fellatio, but the size of the toy and how hard he’s currently being fucked are working against him. The taste and smell of the fresh silicone are strong. Even all of that, however, can’t overpower the sudden rush of desire he feels working his tongue down along the thick and heavily-detailed shaft. He knows he is going to feel every single detail as Cesare works it into his ass.

There’s a noise in the distance. It takes Dorian a moment to place it. By the time he does, Cesare is already swearing.

“Damn it! We’re out of time already?”

Dorian wants to tell him to hell with the meeting. They can live without him for one lousy video conference. But Cesare’s already pulling out.

“Don’t you fucking dare leave me like this!” he shouts, turning to see where the hell Cesare thinks he’s going.

Dorian gets a smack across the ass in reply.

“Just hold on one second and let me shut the alarm off. Keep playing with your new toy.”

Dorian’s takes that as an invitation to shove the toy in his empty ass. He sits up, thighs shaking from the past hour, and places the toy between his legs. Cesare is back on him before he can do anything but feel the strain of its blunt head against him. He shoves the toy aside and thrusts back in in its place. Well-lubricated hands grab his hips and slide around to grab his cock.

“As much as I love your enthusiasm, we really don’t have the time to break that in now.”

“God, please,” Dorian moans, barely even aware of the words coming out of his mouth at this point. He’s been denied one too many times this evening. “I need to come. I need it now.”

“All you had to do was ask,” Cesare teases before stroking Dorian’s dick as hard and fast as he’s fucking him. Dorian barely lasts another ten seconds before he’s collapsing forward into a pool of his own come.

Cesare throws off the harness as fast as he can and presses himself up against Dorian’s back. Dorian can feel Cesare smiling with every kiss he presses to his skin. Bliss, Dorian thinks. The correct word here is bliss.

“As much as I’d love to spend the rest of the evening lying here with you, I believe you have a very important video conference you have to get to,” he finally says.

“Damn them all to hell,” Dorian grumbles, rolling over to survey his sticky and well-lubricated groin.

“We’ve still got some of those baby wipes under the sink from when Josaphine brought Aphilia over. I’ll go get them.”

Dorian makes it to his meeting, if barely. He thinks that the three minutes he was late is more than made up for by the spectacular level of focus he always finds after a satisfying round of sex. His increased productivity more than makes up for the minor tardiness, no matter which way you look at it.

When they break for coffee and/or a smoke, Dorian finds a message waiting for him on his phone.

_Don't forget to pick up the movie._  
 _Love you._

Rainier, one of the firm's named partners and Josaphine's husband of seven years, catches him smiling down at his phone. Dorian had initially suspected that the man was just the slightest bit of a bigot. Unfortunately for everyone involved, it turned out he was just a habitually grumpy old man improved only by the effectual graces of his wife and an incredibly useful dedication to improving factory conditions for workers without sending a company into bankruptcy.

"Must be good news, to have you looking like that," he comments.

"Not as such. Just a well-timed reminder that there is in fact more to life than quarterly budget reviews.”

“God, I could use one of those right about now.”

“I’m afraid all I have for you is more bad news. You should stop leaving Cesare alone with Aphilia. If he falls any more in love with her, you might not get her back.”

Rainier’s laugh is big and hearty, a stark contrast to his working persona.

“That’s my little girl, already breaking men’s hearts. She gets that from her ma, you know.”

“And if you’re lucky, the only thing she’ll get from you is a sturdy constitution.”

“Ha! Amen to that,” he says, toasting Dorian with his coffee. “You’ll end up with your own soon enough. Of that I have no doubt.”

“What makes you say that?” Dorian asks because he certainly has no plans for children in the near future.

“Cesare’s not the only one falling for my little girl.”

“You’re mistaking civility for affection.”

“You think I’m bad about Aphilia, but you’re the one spoiling a daughter that isn’t even yours,” Rainier teases. “Josaphine showed me that video of you dancing with her.”

Dorian nearly chokes on his own coffee.

“What video?”

Rainier laughs even harder than he did before.

“Don’t worry. My Facebook profile is set to private. I’ve only showed it to everyone I know personally.”

Dorian’s whipped out his phone before he can even finish his sentence. There it is, right there on the top of his feed. Thirty two comments and counting. Oh hell, even his _mother_ has seen it.

_Darling dearest? You’re dead to me._

_I was wondering how long it would take you to see that._  
 _Can’t believe it took you this long, honestly._  
 _I couldn’t help myself. You two were just so damn cute._

_Come on, you’re not that mad.  
Are you?_

_Dorian?_

_< 3?_


End file.
